From the Hood to the Beach
So after yesterday’s debacle, and let’s be clear, I owned up to that to you because we’re friends, I decided I should really improve my game when it comes to reading party invitations. I’d like to rely on my team for that, but my P.A., first assistant, second assistant and third assistant are usually busy doing drugs, men or each other and it’s difficult to lecture them about professionalism when you’re guilty of exactly the same thing.
So it basically came down to a few lines of white and a couple of energy drinks to get through last night’s schedule. The first stop was Sonance, where I’d ended the night before. The theme was hip-hop. I triple-checked. No mistakes this time, so I dug up a hoodie, found a pair of sneakers and made my way over. I know, it’s hardly a proper fly-girl outfit straight out of the hood, but I need the closet space for clothes that actually match my looks. You know… the gorgeous ones.
The important thing was that when I walked in, I looked the part. So did almost everyone else. It felt reassuring to know I was trying to right my wrongs, but it's funny them same wrongs helped me write this story.
After a while of bouncing, rocking, hitting levels and pretending I knew what I was doing, it was time to hop over to VICE and here’s where reading invites gets… interpretive. It talked about “Groove Coast. A skyline that never dims. Warm, rolling, tropical. Made for the rooftop under the palms” and that sounded pretty straightforward to me…
I slipped into my bikini, fully expecting a warm rooftop, palm trees, tropical vibes and a skyline. Still recovering from the confidence hit of the night before though, I threw on a pair of short denim shorts over the bikini bottoms, just in case. I’ve built quite the reputation for getting out of my pants in record time when the situation calls for it anyway.
What I didn’t expect was to walk into VICE and discover that the tropical atmosphere consisted of a smoke machine. So the denim shorts stayed on, nobody questioned the outfit, and the music did the rest. I told you yesterday how much you can get away with when you look as amazing as I do.
At some point I should probably stop overthinking all of this, assume everyone else is just as confused as I am, and simply wing it every single night.
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This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
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